Familiar
by XxAngelWithWingsxX
Summary: It had been awhile since she'd let herself revisit that night. She couldn't explain what had happened, why she had suddenly been somewhere else with memories that weren't hers. The older Clary got, the more she wrote it off as a trick her mind had played on her to cope with what was about to happen. It didn't make any sense, and her new, oddly familiar TA was only making it worse.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! **

**I'm very excited to be sharing this story with you. It is based on the manga Hajimari no Niina, and I love how well it plays with Jace and Clary's story. It will not follow the plot of the manga, but the base is very similar.**

**It will be told in both Clary's pov and Jace's pov. And this is NOT a reincarnation story to help clear things up. You'll see as the story goes along.**

**More information about how I'm going to update this story is down below, but for now enjoy the chapter!**

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><p>Her mother had outdone herself this time.<p>

Clary's eyes almost rolled back in bliss as she took another bite of the sandwich that her mother had prepared for her that day. Clary knew her mom was an amazing chef, but _this_… She made such a simple thing as a sandwich so ridiculously delicious, it was unbelievable.

No one seemed to pay much attention to the small redhead as she sat on a bench on the campus quadrangle, and nothing could distract her from the pure joy she was feeling. What could be better than ditching class to enjoy the mild weather and this sandwich? Certainly not the boring, completely unnecessary math discussion that Clary was supposed to be in, the same one that Isabelle was currently sitting through.

Clary nearly got goosebumps at the thought, not looking forward to when Isabelle got out of class and came to scold her. She tried not to dwell on that too long however, letting herself get lost in the beautiful scenery and her delicious food. The quad was ablaze with color, the trees lining the central grassy area different hues of red, orange and yellow.

Still, overall it was too bleak. The trees were nice, but Clary missed the sun. Everything just seemed more gray as a result of the blanket of clouds that covered the sky. The artist in her longed for the bright, vibrant shades of summer when everybody just seemed _happier._

A light fall breeze rustled the leaves lying crumpled on the ground under the feet of passerby, a sign of winter looming over the late October day. Clary shivered a little, not looking forward to the cold becoming worse. She had hated winter, and the icy slick roads that came with it, ever since the accident.

"Clary?"

A familiar voice rang through the buzz of the students moving from one class to the next. She knew what was coming the moment she identified the voice as Isabelle's. After debating whether or not she wanted to answer, Clary looked up from her sandwich, slightly annoyed and slightly afraid, to see Isabelle coming towards her, arms crossed and expression miffed.

It wasn't like this was a surprise; Clary had known Isabelle would be miffed. Isabelle was always miffed whenever Clary ditched class, insisting that school was boring enough without having to face it completely alone. Whenever Clary pointed out that there were thirty or so other people in the class, Isabelle just lifted her nose to the sky and loftily informed her that thirty strangers were not a suitable replacement for Clary.

"So why didn't you come to class today, missus?" Isabelle asked pointedly, setting her things down on the bench and sitting next to Clary. Her tone had taken on that of an upset mother and Clary had to fight back laughter. Isabelle Lightwood was far from motherly.

Isabelle saw her poor attempt to conceal her giggles and crossed her legs as if to prove she was being serious, her expression turning even more upset. "I'm not kidding," she insisted. "You actually really missed out today."

"I don't think I missed out on much Isabelle, no matter how riveting the fundamental theorem of calculus is," Clary scoffed. She had to admit that math was not her strong suit, but she just wasn't feeling sitting in a two hour discussion with the most monotone TA in existence spewing out everything she had already been taught at lecture. If there was anything Clary hated, it was redundancy.

"I'm not talking about the math, though you really should be going to these discussions. They're there to help people like you actually learn the material." Isabelle informed her, tossing her hair behind her shoulder as she usually did when mildly bothered. Isabelle was much more compatible with math and science subjects than Clary was and constantly chided Clary for her lack of interest in bettering herself in those areas. Clary usually commented on how she could say the same for Isabelle and literature, but she held herself back this time. No need to make an already angry Isabelle angry _and_ murderous.

Clary was only moderately annoyed at the people like you comment, more distracted by what Isabelle was talking about. How exciting can anything that happens in a freshman math class be? "What do you mean, not the math?" she asked, brushing aside the comment in favor of getting more information. "What happened today?"

Isabelle's annoyed look broke into a smirk. "We got a new TA. The other guy apparently had a nervous breakdown and said he couldn't teach anymore. Or at least, that's what people are saying." She shrugged indifferently.

Although Clary heaved a massive sigh of relief for being free of the horrendous monotone, she wasn't sure how this was so intensely exciting. "That doesn't really make me want to go to class anymore than usual, Iz." Clary didn't think she'd enjoy a math class even if it was taught by Kim Kardashian, though that definitely would have made for an interesting story.

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "You will want to go once you see the new one though," she assured her slyly. "Even you would be able to appreciate him." Isabelle nudged Clary with her elbow, wagging her eyebrows.

This time, it was Clary's turn to roll her eyes. "He's probably what, in his thirties?" She snorted a little. "I highly doubt I'm going to be any more attracted to him than I am to this sandwich." She held up the sandwich that still waited, agonizingly half-eaten in her hand, as if to prove her point. Although, now that she thought about it again, she was in fact feeling very much attracted to this particular sandwich, especially to the thought of continuing to eat it…

Isabelle thought for a moment, and the emotion behind her eyes shifted. Something about Isabelle's expression made Clary think she was lost in some faraway place. "No," she said eventually, "he's not thirty. He's the same age as my brother."

Her voice had taken on a somber tone, although Clary could not imagine why. Instead of trying to fathom the reason behind it, she just waited for an explanation and continued to eat her sandwich while she still had the chance.

"My brother used to know him, actually. They went to high school together. So he's what, twenty-eight?" Isabelle turned towards Clary. The far-off look melted a little at the sight of the lettuce that was sticking out of Clary's mouth. She raised an eyebrow and shook her head slightly in disapproval.

Clary finished chewing before answering, afraid of getting another scolding. "Used to know? He's not friends with him anymore?" she asked, noting the deliberate use of past tense.

"No, not really." Isabelle's tone had gotten even more bleak, and her expression turned sad. "He was dating this girl at the time, and it was pretty serious. They had been dating since middle school, about five years. They were both eighteen and had just entered college too, but an accident happened and his girlfriend ending up dying." She paused for a moment as they both let the gravity of the fact sink in a bit. "I guess he didn't handle it very well, because he didn't keep in touch with anyone after that. Not even my brother, and they were like, best friends."

_Oh._

Clary hadn't expected any of that, but she knew just how bad it felt to lose loved ones in an accident.

She knew all too well.

The year following the accident she had practically been shut away in her room, refusing to meet even her closest friends, barely eating, barely doing anything other than sketching in the art book her father had bought her a few months prior. It remained like that for what seemed like centuries until her mother finally got it through to Clary that life always moved on, and that she would have to move on with it.

Memories that she longed to suppress sparked yet again in her mind. She worked hard to keep herself from going back to that moment, from seeing the blaring lights come toward the car that she, her brother and her father had been in. From hearing the frightening sound of metal crunching, bending, and ripping as the impact slammed into them.

She kept herself from remembering what else had happened that night, that she had told nobody else.

Instead, she refocused on what Isabelle was saying and emptied her head of the still too clear images. "Did you know who she was, Iz?" Clary asked, for lack of anything else to say.

"No." Isabelle shook her head, then went back into deep thought for a few seconds. It seemed to be a common theme of the day for her. "Actually, I saw her a few times when he came to hang out with my brother. She'd come along sometimes. But I never really talked to her, you know?"

Clary's interest in this new TA rose a little. Something about the story Isabelle had just relayed spoke to her, and she felt a sort of kinship with this man she had never even met. Maybe she'd actually bother going to discussion after all, if nothing more than to satisfy her curiosity. "And exactly how cute is this TA?" she asked in a mockingly serious tone, hoping to lighten the mood a little. The chilly, gray weather was already enough of a mood kill.

"Very." To Clary's delight, Isabelle smirked a little. "He was attractive in high school, and now he's just drop-dead, marry-me-right-now gorgeous. Though, I'm not sure how interested he would be in a munchkin like you."

"I, and all the other munchkins in this world, take great offense." Clary playfully turned away from Isabelle, crossing her arms over her chest and putting on her best "I'm offended as hell" face.

Isabelle giggled and got up, gathering her things. "Alright, let's go. You should at least make it to one class today. I don't want to be the one to have to tell your mother why you failed your first semester of college," she warned her, only really half-joking. Clary stuck her tongue out at her friend but let herself be dragged off the bench, tossing her sandwich wrapper in the trash as she passed by.

"What's this guy's name?" Clary asked, genuinely curious. It seemed as if this new TA shared at least one major common experience with her, and Clary couldn't help but relate with his.

"Jace. Jace Herondale." Isabelle replied casually.

Clary stopped dead in her tracks, abruptly unable to move.

Isabelle disappeared from view. The scenery changed, and Clary wasn't on the quad anymore. The weather turned sunny and warm, the leaves clearing away to reveal bright green grass and kids playing around in what seemed to be a park.

Something golden was standing right in front of her, stretching out a hand. It was a pianist's hand, tanned, slim and strong. And Clary took it, as if she had been doing so for as long as she could remember…

"Clary! Clary what's wrong with you?" Isabelle asked, shaking Clary's shoulders furiously.

"What…?" Clary looked around dazedly, feeling motion flow back into her limbs. She felt the cold breeze against her cheek again. Isabelle was looking concernedly into her eyes, and she couldn't really manage to do anything but stare back for a moment. Clary glanced around, relieved to see the same familiar quad surrounding her once more. A few people had stopped a couple feet away to see what was going on, alarmed by Isabelle's frantic tone.

"Are you alright? You weren't responding to anything I was saying. You just…stood there." Isabelle said, letting go of Clary's shoulders. When she saw that a small crowd had gathered, she shot a look at some of the people who had stopped to stare. "She's fine, thanks for checking," she announced to nobody in particular, her tone not particularly sincere. They quickly dispersed, not overly keen to get more attitude from Izzy.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Clary assured her, blinking hard for a moment to rid herself of the weird, disorienting vision. "I don't know what happened, my mind suddenly wandered. I guess I was thinking too hard about what happened to this guy." Clary paused, trying to brush it off as much as she could.

She decided not to mention that something like this had happened before.

Isabelle studied her face for a few seconds. Clary gave her the best smile she could muster, fearful of any more questions. Isabelle knew exactly what Clary had gone through. She had been one of the first people to help break Clary out of the shell she had hidden inside, and understood how painful the memories were to her. Maybe she would believe that Clary was just really touched by this man's story.

"Alright. If you say so." She didn't look completely convinced, but at least the questions had stopped. "Come on. We're going to be late."

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><p>"Mom! I'm home!" Clary called as she turned the key in the lock and stepped into her house. One of the main benefits she got from going to college in the city was being able to stay home and eat her mom's food whenever she wanted. Sure, she would have enjoyed living in a dorm away from the parental restrictions, but no amount of partying could make up for the crappy dorm food she was sure to encounter. She set her bag on the kitchen countertop, inhaling deeply to catch the wonderful scent of her mom's baking.<p>

"Hey sweetie, how were classes?" her mother asked as she popped out of her studio and into the kitchen, wiping off her paint-stained hands on her apron. Nothing could keep Jocelyn Fray from her studio: she not only painted professionally, but almost religiously as a pastime.

_You mean, 'how was the one class you attended today?'_ Clary sighed, "They were boring as usual."

Her mother gave her a look that oddly resembled the one Isabelle had given her earlier when she scolded her for skipping. "That's not the attitude you should have, Clary. Try to enjoy them a little," she suggested, going to clean up her hands more thoroughly in the sink.

Clary sank down into a chair at the table. "Mom, you know how much I enjoy learning and whatnot. I practically thirst for knowledge." Clary widened her eyes in mock excitement, then broke down and giggled as she got another of the same look from her mother.

"Well, forget all that," her mom sighed, giving up for the moment. "I made you some apple pie today. I'll just let it reheat in the oven for a few minute." Clary tried to focus on her mother as she moved about, but the vision was slipping…

The view in front of her changed again, the kitchen morphing into another one just as familiar to her as her own. She was sitting at a different table, yet it seemed as if she had been sitting there every day for years. There was a different woman calling out to her with a voice she had been hearing from her birth, but it was not the mother Clary recognized. But at the same time, it was.

_"Samara, I made apple pie for you today!"_

Clary felt herself respond, as if it were the most natural thing to do. _"Oh, thanks Mom! Can I have some ice cream with it too?"_

The woman turned to smile at her, and she felt all the motherly affection she felt from her own mother in that smile. _"Of course, Samara."_

"Clary? Honey, what's wrong?" Her mother was leaning over the chair across from Clary, a worried look in her eyes.

Clary smiled as quickly as she could, blinking to clear out the other woman's voice from her head. "Sorry, I was thinking about something that happened in lecture today," she said quickly, trying hard to appear natural. "What were you saying?"

Her mother paused for a moment before answering, giving her a long look. "I was just telling you about the pie," she said slowly. "What happened in lecture that caused you to space out like that?"

"I don't think it's appropriate enough to tell you, Mom," Clary said with a smirk, hoping her answer was enough to put off her mother from asking any further.

"Well, alright… the pie's going to take a few more minutes to heat up, so why don't you go wash up first?" her mother suggested, letting the subject go.

"Yeah, I think I'll go do that," Clary said as she retrieved her bag from the counter. She tried hard to refrain from bolting up the stairs.

She splashed her face with water and looked at her reflection in her mirror. The same pale green eyes that received so many compliments when she was younger stared back at her. Her hair, the bright red shade it had always been lay in the same disheveled curly mess that she had long ago learned to accept.

Nothing about her had physically changed. Clary thought back to the time of the accident ten years ago, a night that left her without a father or a brother but with a strange story she could never tell anybody else, and wondered if she really was the same person she was before.

Her mother had warned their father to drive carefully; the snow that had fallen just a few hours prior had frozen and turned the roads slick and dangerous. He had waved her off, telling her he had driven in countless New York winters, and knew exactly what lay ahead.

The roads were mostly empty, and Jonathan and Clary had been bickering since entering the vehicle. Clary, thinking she was old enough now to sit in the front seat next to her dad, had thrown a tantrum when he had gone in favor of Jonathan sitting next to him and leaving Clary alone in the back. This was, of course, all to Jonathan's delight, who enjoyed being just old enough to do all the things his younger sister couldn't.

Their bickering had stopped, however, when headlights began shining in front of them. At first, Clary thought they were passing under a particularly brightly lit highway, but when she looked closer, she saw that a truck had skidded out of its lane on the other side of the road and was heading straight for the car. She could remember screaming as her father tried to jerk the car in the opposite direction, but the impact was unavoidable…

…but the impact never happened. When Clary opened her eyes next, she was no longer in a car, but standing at the side of a road in front of a crosswalk. She was no longer her eight year old self, but someone older and more mature. She looked across the street to see a figure waving at her, a figure she recognized very well.

She smiled. All she wanted to do at that point was run towards the figure: she had good news for him. She started running across the crosswalk, her eyes trained on the golden hair that she knew was soft and silky to the touch, the warm gold eyes that she could get lost in on any given day…

_"Samara!"_ A scream ripped from the golden boy's mouth, his expression turned horrified. She slowed down, confused. Why was he calling out her name? She turned to look and saw, just a second before it hit her, the car flying way too fast on the ice-coated roads toward her. All she could think to do was turn back to her golden boy, see those golden eyes one last time.

Clary gasped. It had been a long time since she had let herself revisit that night. To this day, she couldn't explain what had happened, why she had suddenly been somewhere she had no reason to be with memories that were not hers. The eight-year-old Clary had been too scared to tell her mother about it while her mother was already suffering the pain of losing two of her family.

The older Clary got, the more she wrote it off as hallucination, a trick her mind had played on her to cope with what it knew was about to happen. Nothing else made sense, after all.

But she questioned that now.

_Why are those visions coming again?_ Clary was frightened by the fact that they seemed more like memories than they did dreams, as if she had lived through them once before.

And that name. _Samara._

She had identified herself with that name in the visions, as if the name was referencing her directly. It felt natural to respond. Normal. Familiar.

Clary stared into the wide green eyes reflected back at her in the mirror. "I was Clary Fray before the accident," she murmured, watching herself nod in confirmation, "and I'm still Clary Fray now." She watched herself nod again.

But somehow, she wasn't completely sure that she wasn't lying to herself.

Whoever herself was.

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><p><strong>And that's chapter one!<strong>

**A few notes: this story will not be regularly updated until I have the story completely written and edited. It seems that was the main issue I ran into with my other stories, since lack of time and other major changes made me drop them midway. At least this way no one will be disappointed by my late updates! **

**That being said, I'll still put up a chapter here and there since I am getting pretty far into it. **

**To my old readers, sorry for disappearing for so long again. I graduated among other things so I've still been adjusting! But I'm excited to start again, especially with this story.**

**Please leave a review telling me what you think! I'd love to hear your opinions ^^**

**Yours,**

**~A.W.W**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey again guys! Thanks so much for all those reviews. I'm glad all of you are enjoying this story so far, and for all the updates to come.**

**Sorry about accidentally uploading the chapter and then deleting it- I realize many of you may not receive a notification for this update so I'll try to notify through PMs.**

**This chapter, as usual, was beta'd by the wonderful TMI. Thank you girlie :***

**I know I wasn't supposed to update for a while but I couldn't help myself oops.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>Jace stood leaning against the blackboard, arms crossed over his chest as the last few stragglers filed into the classroom. He looked down at his worn-down watch, waiting until the minute hand reached the twelve, signaling the start of class.<p>

"Alright, as you all probably have guessed, I'm going to be your new TA this semester," he started, pushing himself off the blackboard and picking up the pile of handouts on the desk in front of him, "I'm not entirely sure what happened to Mr. Sullivan, so don't ask me."

_Actually, I know exactly what happened, _Jace thought to himself, chuckling mentally at the reality of the situation._ The poor guy couldn't deal with a handful of college students._

No one said a word in response. Jace smirked. It didn't seem like too bad of a group at all. Then again, there hadn't been a group of rowdy kids he couldn't handle. He glanced around the room, taking note of the faces that were eagerly watching him, the ones staring down at their crotches, and those that were flat out asleep.

He paused, a flash of recognition passing over him. Backtracking, he looked toward one of the girls his eyes had skimmed past, and noticed that she was looking at him with the same confused expression. Jace knew that dark, almost black hair that flowed from her head all too well.

_Alec's sister._She had been much younger the last time Jace had seen her, the last time he had seen anyone from that family…

Before he could let his mind wander, he gave her a curt nod, an indication that he had recognized her, and continued to inspect the rest of the room. A few of the girls had already begun giggling together, pointedly staring at him. He coolly ignored them. College girls were so typical.

"Do any of you have questions for me?" He waited a moment, half expecting one of the giggling girls to raise their hand to ask some ridiculous question just to get his attention on them for a moment. However, no one raised a hand. "No? Alright then, I'll just continue where you guys left off according to Mr. Sullivan's notes. The fundamental theorem of calculus…"

The next hour passed by uneventfully, though his eyes kept wandering over to where Alec's sister was sitting. Her face brought back memories; Alec used to dote on his sister, and Jace had gotten to know her fairly well, from the time she was a toddler through her growth into a particularly sassy eight year old. Jace didn't really enjoy kids, but she was one who he could respect.

When the students began to pack their things and leave, Jace dodged around a few of the girls who were lingering at the front and stopped Isabelle just as she was about to leave the room.

"Hey Izzy. Long time no see, huh?" Jace said before he could think too long about it. He wasn't entirely sure what brought him to stop her– maybe it was the guilt that he felt for losing touch with her brother, someone who had been like family to him. Maybe it was because she was part of a past he had run away from for so long.

"Hi Jace – I mean, er, Mr. Herondale?..." Izzy trailed off, partly looking like she was tasting something strange from addressing him so formally, and partly distracted by some of her classmates. The girls who had waited for Jace at the front were staring her down, and she was staring right back. It seemed to frighten the girls enough that after a moment of indecisive female stare down, they gave up and hurried out of the room. Jace had to stop himself from chuckling. She hadn't changed one bit.

"You can still call me Jace," he assured her, feeling the same strangeness at being addressed as "Mr. Herondale" that Izzy had clearly felt too. "How have you been? You barely reached my waist the last time I saw you." Jace tried to keep his tone light, though he was feeling far from it. The more Jace looked at her, the more of Alec he could see, from the defined cheek bones to the piercing eyes that both of their parents also possessed.

There was that stab of guilt again. The Lightwood couple had been pseudo-parents to him ever since his own mother and father had died while he was practically still a baby and he had been left with only his grandmother. But after months of broken contact following the accident, he couldn't bring himself to show his face to them again.

"I've been fine." Isabelle paused before she continued, carefully looking over his facial expression. "Alec's been fine too."

Jace could sense the hesitation in her voice. He didn't blame her. How else do you treat someone who had acted like a total psychopath the last time they met?

"That's good, that's good." He had already run out of things to say, and he was beginning to understand why he had wanted to stay so far away from his previous life. Even now, looking at the youngest Lightwood reminded him of _her__…_

"About Samara, I'm so sorry-" she blurted out suddenly, like she had been waiting to say that and it had finally come gushing out. Jace's eyes narrowed and Isabelle shut her mouth when she caught the look on Jace's face. He hadn't heard that name in a while.

"I'm sorry. I think I should head to my next class now." Isabelle said quickly, not meeting Jace's eyes. He hadn't meant to react so badly, but she had caught him off guard. Before Jace could think of a way to apologize, Isabelle had practically bolted from the room.

Jace let out a sigh as he gathered his things from the desk. What kind of cosmic joke it was to put Isabelle in one of his classes, Jace didn't know. But what he did know was that with that one mention of her name, he couldn't stop thinking about Samara, after he had managed not to for so long.

The faint clicking of heels in the hallway outside alerted him that an unwanted presence was quickly approaching. He let out another sigh just as Aline came marching into the classroom. Jace looked up at her, decided this would not be a pleasant encounter, then set his bag back on the desk and hopped up to sit beside it. Why not make his day even harder, right?

"You didn't tell me you got a new class," Aline said in a very accusatory tone, skipping any form of greeting. Jace rolled his eyes. _It was to avoid exactly this._

"Doesn't matter now, does it?" he replied, "considering you found your way here anyway…" Jace didn't try to keep the annoyance out of his tone. Aline followed him around enough as it was, going as far as getting a teaching job in the same university as him.

"You should tell me these things! I thought we were friends, Jace." Aline pouted, and Jace had to keep himself from snorting. Whatever she thought that expression did, it did not make her look cute. And Jace knew what her definition of 'friends' was, and it was not teatime buddies.

Choosing not to answer, Jace was instead mentally comparing her pouty face to that of a duck when Aline huffed and got up. _That was quicker than usual._ Usually she'd stick around and at least try to get his attention in some way or another.

"I don't know what's been up with you Jace, but you gotta get over it. You know I'm a psychology teacher, and I'm telling you that this behavior and mindset of yours has gone on too long. There are still people who care about you, you know." Aline said, looking very hurt.

_If you throwing your chest out all the time is your version of caring about me, then I definitely am not interested._

Instead of saying _that_ out loud, Jace decided the quickest way to get her out of his hair was to give in– or at least, to act like he was giving in. He presented her with the sorriest expression he could muster up, looking up at her between his lashes with all the charm he could gather in his current state of mind. "I'm sorry, Aline. I know I haven't been fair to you," he told her, soaking his tone in sincerity.

Jace could tell how much this pleased Aline. "I'll let it slide this time then. Just remember Jace, I'm always here for you," she said, leaning in closer and putting her hand on his shoulder, her claw-like nails just barely digging in. He was pretty sure the action wasn't simply so Jace could see the emotion in her eyes, because from where Jace was sitting on the desk, he had a clear view of everything that was underneath her already low-cut blouse.

Aline let go of him and, with a satisfied expression, left the room. It wasn't until Jace could no longer hear the clicking of her heels that he got up and departed himself.

_I need a drink._

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><p>The lights flashed dizzyingly in Pandemonium, Jace's club of choice whenever he went out. It wasn't the atmosphere he enjoyed as much as the large picking of girls that were willing to go home with him, but the place was still nice. It seemed as if he spent more time here than he did at his own home most days, and he was perfectly okay with that.<p>

He weaved his way over to the bar, avoiding the mass of sweaty bodies as much as he could. To Jace's delight, it was Joe tending the bar today. Joe nodded to him as Jace sat down on one of the stools. "There's this cutie in a red dress hanging around the other side. Real nice ass," Joe said as way of greeting, leaning in and gesturing with his chin to a girl casually dancing with a glass in her hand.

Jace appraised her. She had everything he typically would look for: a nice figure, not dressed like too much of a skank, no other friends hanging around. He momentarily considered going over, but thought better of it.

"Thanks for the tip, but I'm okay for tonight, Joe. I'll just have a drink," Jace replied as he turned back to Joe. The bartender looked surprised, but didn't probe any further.

"Okay, then," he said with a shrug, and passed Jace his usual whiskey. It wasn't long before Jace had emptied the first drink and had asked for another. And then another.

Even the large amount of alcohol wasn't enough to keep Jace from thinking about Samara. The image of her face floated in and out of his mind and plastered itself on the back of his eyelids whenever he closed his eyes. He felt the familiar tightening of his stomach and shortness of breath, hands curling around the glass in his hand.

"You alright tonight, bro?" Joe asked, looking at him appraisingly as Jace downed the final swig of his current drink. Jace nodded, though the movement hurt his head a little.

"Never been better, Joe." Jace replied, motioning for another drink to which Joe complied somewhat hesitantly.

"Alright man, just remember that it's a weeknight. Might not want to go so hard."

Jace snickered. He smiled at Joe, noting that the bartender's face was blurring around the edges. "It's always a good time to go hard."

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><p>The moral of last night: he couldn't drink like he used to anymore. His twenty-eight year old self seemed to particularly despise him this morning, his head pounding against his skull and an ache spreading around the rest of his body.<p>

_At least I made it to my own apartment._ He looked around his room to find it mostly intact, though the contents of one of his drawers was strewn around the old hardwood floor, probably in a dazed attempt to change into sleepwear.

Ignoring the reason for his absurd drinking last night, Jace prepared for the day of work, getting his clothes and bag ready with barely enough time left to eat what he could scavenge and chug a few glasses of water.

It was a miracle he wasn't late to his first class, handing out the day's classwork and not saying a word unless someone bravely ignored the "don't fuck with me" vibes he was giving off and approached to ask him a question.

Jace was still feeling like shit by the time Isabelle's class rolled around, though he tried to act more alert. A part of him still didn't want the Lightwood to see him in such a condition, no matter what his current relationship with the family was like.

He noticed immediately when Isabelle entered the room, although this time she wasn't alone. A small redhead was conversing with her as they made their way toward their seats.

_She's pretty._

He stopped that thought in its tracks, mildly shocked at its intrusion and blamed it on his half hungover mind. _She's also your student, Herondale._

It was right then when the redhead made eye contact with him, her bright green eyes seeming to look straight through his amber ones. It made him feel… _warm._

Then her gaze left him just as quickly as it had struck, and with it, that inexplicable warmth. Jace saw a flush spread over her cheeks as she attempted to turn her face away in embarrassment. _Another typical girl, huh?_

But that condemnation didn't ring as true as it usually did this time. There was something about her gaze that was comforting, almost familiar. Nothing like the other stares that he got, the ones that held only lust.

_Enough! _He shoved all those thoughts aside, alarmed at his loss of focus. He had work to do. "Alright, we're going to take it easy today," Jace announced, hushing the voices that had been chatting quietly among themselves. "Just work on the problems on this sheet and ask me if you have any questions."

Jace handed out the worksheets and sat back behind the desk, trying as hard as possible to keep his eyes from wandering to the redhead as they were so strongly itching to do. He mentally berated himself, trying to snap out of it. When was the last time a college girl had ever held any interest to him?

The time dragged by, seemingly taunting him while students occasionally approached him for help, but more often than not left him alone with his thoughts. As soon as it was over, Jace heaved a sigh of relief. Never had a class managed to make him this uncomfortable, and he was glad to be free of it. "Have a good rest of the day, and just leave your worksheets on my desk as you leave," he instructed, beginning to pack up his own things.

After most of the class had made its way out the door, Jace heard the smack of books hitting the ground, followed by a muffled exclamation. He looked up to find the redhead appraising her various books and papers that now lay scattered on the floor with an exasperated look on her face. After a moment, she and Isabelle began collecting them, shoving the items back into her bag.

With a brief curse at the way his day was going in general, he forced himself to make his way over to where the two were bent over on the ground and started picking up the belongings as well.

Isabelle looked up first, her eyes widening slightly in surprise when she saw Jace. "Thanks Mr. Heron- Jace." The redhead looked up at Isabelle's words and made eye contact with Jace for the second time that day. That same warmth spread throughout his body, but Jace looked away and cleared his throat.

"It's no problem," he replied, refusing to meet either of their stares. While he did feel the need to be polite and help them, that didn't mean that he felt comfortable in this encounter.

Once Clary's bag had been restocked with her wayward things, Jace held the last stack of papers he had in his hand out to the redhead. She stretched both hands out to receive them, her fingers gently brushing his when she took them from his grasp, sending a wave of pleasant shivers through him.

Her eyes widened and she froze, staring blankly at Jace's face. When she didn't move for a few seconds, Isabelle reached out and shook her.

"Clary!" Isabelle said, sending a brief look of apology to Jace before turning back to her friend. The redhead blinked dazedly and looked at Isabelle, the blush from earlier returning to her face. Her mouth opened as if to speak, but no words came out.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Herondale, but my friend isn't feeling very well today," Isabelle said hurriedly, taking hold of the redhead's arm and pulling her toward the door. Jace watched their backs in confusion as they left the room, wondering what the hell had just happened.

_Clary._Even her name was pretty. But why was it that her gaze was so… what was it, exactly? He couldn't think of any word to describe it but… _familiar._ As if he had been looking into those eyes for a long time, although he was sure he had never seen eyes as thoroughly green as the ones he had just seen.

_There you go again, Herondale, thinking that student is attractive_. _I swear, you're going to get yourself fired at this rate._

He knew none of it mattered though. Jace had decided a long time ago that his heart wouldn't reopen for anybody, and it certainly wouldn't do so for that girl. Clary.

It wouldn't. Too much had happened. It wasn't even a possibility.

It couldn't be.

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><p><strong>:o<strong>

**Hope you liked that! The next chapter will be up in two weeks (Saturday the 31st). **

**It's a fun chapter I can't wait for it. But who knows, reviews might make me update sooner ;)**

**Please leave a review!**

**Yours,**

**~A.W.W**


	3. Chapter 3

**Look at that, I'm updating a day early!**

**Hopefully this chapter will clear up any confusion you have about the Clary/Samara/Jace relationship. But remember, it's okay to be a little confused! You're not meant to understand everything this early.**

**Thank you thank you TMI for being a wonderful beta as always c:**

**On we go!**

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><p>Clary was nervous.<p>

She wasn't entirely sure why she was nervous, but her heart had picked up speed as she and Isabelle had turned the corner to the hallway of her math discussion classroom. Everything Isabelle had told her yesterday kept repeating itself over and over in her head, along with a name: _Jace Herondale. _

The curious side of her was itching to finally see who this man was and why he seemed so interesting to Clary. _I wonder what he looks like._ She wasn't even paying attention to Isabelle's chattering anymore, the noise of her own heartbeat washing out all other sound.

When they approached the entrance to the classroom, Clary noticed Isabelle hesitate as she reached for the doorknob, then drop her hand back down to her side. _What was that about?_ It wasn't often that Clary could find even a crack in Isabelle's otherwise ever-impeccably upheld facade, so she moved closer to Isabelle and asked, "Hey, you okay?"

Isabelle looked over her shoulder at Clary and asked, "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" As if to demonstrate that she was feeling fine, she opened the door and strode in with her usual air of confidence. "I was just thinking about the next midterm," she continued as way of explanation, not looking back at Clary.

_If you say so_. Something about the stiffness of Isabelle's shoulders Clary observed as she followed her friend inside indicated that may not have been the case, and she wondered if it had anything to do with Mr. Herondale.

Clary had to physically restrain herself from staring at Mr. Herondale from the moment they entered the classroom, instead choosing to focus on Isabelle's back as they made their way to their usual seats. It wasn't until she had set her books down on the desk that she allowed herself to glance up and appraise the figure at the front of the room.

He was sitting behind the desk, back a little hunched and hands folded. The sight of him sent a warmth through Clary, and an odd sort of tingle into her fingers. The first thing she noticed was that everything about him seemed to glow golden; the tanned skin, the blonde hair that fell in curly tendrils just barely past his forehead, the amber eyes- eyes that were staring right back at her.

_Shit. _She tore away from his gaze as quickly as she could, cursing herself. To make it worse, she could feel the burning hot blush blossom on her cheeks and spread quickly down to her neck, a much too visible sign of her embarrassment. Sometimes she really hated being so pale.

_Wait a minute__…_ Something clicked in the back of Clary's mind, momentarily distracting her from her discomfort. Hadn't she seen that same golden glow somewhere before? Hadn't she seen those tanned hands, those warm honey eyes? However, for the life of her, she couldn't place exactly where they had appeared in her memory.

Isabelle looked between Clary and their TA apprehensively, and Clary couldn't bring herself to meet her stare, afraid that the strange emotion she was feeling would be given away, or misinterpreted by Isabelle. Knowing Isabelle, the latter was probably very likely.

She felt dizzy._ I__'__m probably making something out of nothing. _Perhaps she was taking the familiarity she felt with this man too far; there was no way they could have met before, right?

A voice sounded from the front of the room, and Clary looked up to see Mr. Herondale addressing the class. He had gotten up from behind the desk and was now standing at the front of the room, looking at the students. "Alright, we're going to take it easy today. Just work on this sheet and ask me if you have any questions."

She tried to ignore the return of the warmth creeping up her skin at the sound of his voice, and instead took the opportunity to look at him closer as he began to pass out the worksheets. Clary could tell he was tired; there were bags under his eyes indicating he hadn't slept well along with a puffiness around his cheeks, but she noticed that his hair and clothes were still impeccable.

Though she knew it was none of her business, Clary couldn't help but wonder what he had been up to last night that caused him to look so worn down. Or was this his regular appearance? For some reason, she doubted that. He carried himself with confidence and Clary could tell he took himself seriously. Those weren't the marks of a man who consistently came to work looking this tired.

Regardless, she realized Isabelle had been right: even Clary realized how downright handsome this man was, though she normally was indifferent about the looks of most men. Mr. Herondale's features were well defined, his amber eyes outlined in thick lashes, his jaw line strong and smooth underneath a shadow of unshaven hair. He was every painter's dream with a statuesque handsomeness, and Clary's hand itched to grab a paintbrush and immortalize him on a canvas.

Isabelle nudged her in the side. "Clary," she whispered mischievously, "you're staring at him." Caught, Clary instantly averted her gaze and looked at Isabelle sheepishly, who just smirked somewhat triumphantly back at her.

She ignored Isabelle's _I told you so_ look and trained her eyes on the worksheet in front of her. Whatever Clary had expected upon seeing Mr. Herondale, it certainly wasn't that. For someone she had never met, he elicited a distinctly strong response from her. It scared Clary a little. She was already losing her mind with the strange visions- she certainly did not need someone messing with her head further.

It was a difficult task to keep herself from glancing up at him again, her mind barely focusing on the math in front of her. His golden eyes kept popping into her head, their haunting familiarity causing her mind to wander endlessly in effort to locate where they had popped up in her memories before. Isabelle had to point out multiple times that she was completely screwing up problems without realizing it, although that may have been due to her lack of math skills rather than her distracted state of mind.

When the hour was finally over, Clary heaved a sigh of relief. She still didn't look at Mr. Herondale as he gave instructions to leave the worksheets on his desk, gathering her things into her bag as quickly as she could and waiting impatiently as Isabelle took her time.

In her haste to leave the classroom once Isabelle had finished, Clary's leg caught on one of the desks, causing her to stumble and drop her bag of books in one big papery mess on the floor. She stood there for a second, face heating up once more, contemplating whether or not she wanted to pick them up or just bolt from the room and hide from the embarrassment.

Isabelle sighed and bent down to start collecting the runaway books before Clary could decide what she wanted to do. Grudgingly, she squatted next to Isabelle and started picking them up herself, cursing herself in her head for always proving that she was a total klutz.

Clary looked around for the next item to pick up, her eyes landing on an old sheet of notes that had drifted a couple feet away. Before she could move to retrieve it, though, someone else got there first. "Thanks Mr. Heron- Jace," Izzy said.

Looking up in surprise, Clary's eyes locked once more with Mr. Herondale's, but this time it was he that looked away first. He cleared his throat and said, "It's not a problem," keeping his head down as he gathered the final few books.

They all stood up once the mess on the floor had been cleared and Mr. Herondale stretched out the pile of papers he had in his arm, not quite looking at Clary. She reached forward, feeling oddly shy as she gently lifted them from his hand. Her fingers brushed his as she grasped the sheaf of papers, immediately sending a warm rush from her hand all the way to her chest.

Clary knew what was coming the moment the classroom and Mr. Herondale's surprised face began shifting out of focus. She was once again in the park lying in the green grass, the sun shining down on her, watching kids run around. The man who seemed to emanate gold stood in front of her, his back to the sun and his face in shadow.

The same slim hand stretched out in offering and she took it gladly, smiling up into the owner's face, which had finally come into view.

A younger Jace smiled back down at her, removing his hand from hers and instead putting it around her shoulder and turning to face the side. She looked toward where Jace's gaze had shifted, feeling light and happy.

A dark haired boy stood a little ways away, his face blocked by the camera he was pointing at her and Jace._ "__Alright, say cheese!__"_ he said happily, and clicked the camera.

She could almost hear the shutter close as a sharp jerk snapped Clary back into her own mind. There he was standing in front of her, the same golden boy who had haunted her vision, though now he was noticeably older. Everything began making less and less sense- the Jace she saw in her mind was ten, maybe fifteen years younger than the one who stood in front of her now. There was no way she could met him when she was that young, and the memory seemed as clear as though it had happened yesterday.

_Samara. _

For some reason, that name rang through her head again. Did this inexplicable memory of Jace have something to do with the name she had heard in yesterday's vision in the kitchen? The fact that in these visions everyone spoke to her as if her name was Samara, not Clary?

She tried to hide the shock pulsing through her very being as Isabelle apologized for Clary and dragged her out of the classroom by the arm. Her thoughts swirled in a confused mess in her head, and Clary could find no plausible answer to what was going on.

Isabelle didn't say a word until they had left the building and were standing outside, finally relinquishing her grip on Clary and turning to face her, arms crossed. "Mind explaining what's going on now?" she demanded, sounding both alarmed and annoyed at once. "Why do you keep zoning out? It's getting kinda weird."

Clary knew there was no escaping Isabelle now- not until she was satisfied with Clary's answer. Clary sighed. "I don't know, Isabelle," she said honestly. "There's just... something familiar about him."

Isabelle raised her eyebrow, indicating that this was not enough of an explanation to appease her. Deciding she might as well tell some of the truth, Clary tried to figure out how to word the most plausible explanation of how she had been acting.

"It's just that ever since I heard about his girlfriend's accident, I haven't stopped thinking about mine," she started. So far, at least all of this was true. "I keep having visions of the crash happening, especially whenever I think about him." The last part was still partly true; she was seeing visions all over the place. They just weren't necessarily related to the accident.

Isabelle's face took on an apologetic look, and Clary felt a little bad lying to her. But it wasn't as though she could fully explain what had been happening without Isabelle writing her off as insane.

"I'm so sorry you've had to deal with that, Clary. Why didn't you tell me?" Isabelle said, looping her arm through Clary's and leading Clary towards the cafeteria. Her tone was a lot softer and more understanding now, and Clary felt a little worse for misleading her.

Clary shrugged. "I didn't want to worry you," she replied, trying to sound nonchalant. "It happens from time to time."

They didn't say much as they continued until Isabelle paused for a second, suddenly going into deep thought. Clary stopped accordingly, watching her friend's expression change.

"Now that I think about it, both of your accidents happened around the same time," Isabelle said after a moment, sounding thoughtful. "Actually, I think they had happened pretty close to each other. I heard about yours first and then a day or so later, Alec told me about Jace's girlfriend." Izzy's expression darkened a little more, her brow furrowing and fingers playing with the ends of her hair as she raked her brain. "They may have even been on the same day to be honest," she finally concluded. "I can't remember too well though, I was only eight."

This piece of information intrigued Clary. Maybe she wasn't dreaming up this connection she felt with Jace at all. _Why am I calling him Jace? _

There must be something there: the fact that their accidents were around the same time as each others couldn't have been a coincidence.

A thought crossed Clary's mind as they entered the cafeteria. It couldn't be that… but what if it was? She had to know. She was almost too afraid to ask Isabelle, but she gathered her courage and spoke up. "Hey Isabelle…what was Jace's girlfriend's name?"

Isabelle answered immediately: "Samara. Samara Garroway."

Somehow, Clary knew that was going to be the answer before it even fell from Isabelle's lips. Her chest tightened. She knew there was something more going on here, something that tied her and Jace together in a way that didn't seem to make any sense.

Before she could think any further, another arm looped around her shoulders and Isabelle let out an annoyed grumble. Clary looked up to see Simon smiling down at her, bag slung over his shoulder and his other hand in his pocket.

"Hello there, cretin," Isabelle spoke through gritted teeth and a big, false smile. It could be said that Isabelle very much disliked Simon, or at least pretended to, and used every available opportunity to make fun of him in some way. Simon handled it pretty well in Clary's opinion, either ignoring or politely answering Isabelle no matter what insults she threw at him.

"Hey there!" he said, smiling brightly in Isabelle's direction. "And how is the princess doing today?" Clary stifled a giggle. She knew Isabelle hated it, but there could be no nickname more accurate for her.

Isabelle shot him a disgusted look before stomping away with her nose in the air to get her food. What had caused Isabelle to become so provoked by Simon, Clary wasn't sure, but the two of them had been like this for as long as she could remember.

Clary turned to Simon, glad he had chosen such an opportune moment to show up. Being around Simon soothed Clary in a way no one else could manage, and his goofiness was exactly what she needed to clear her head of this nonsensical mess.

"Hey Simon. Where have you been all week?" Clary asked, realizing this was the first time she had seen Simon since last weekend.

He shrugged, dropping his arm from around Clary. "Eric's been trying to get the band together again," he replied casually, putting his hand into his other pocket. "Something about changing up our style and making another big appearance."

Clary thought back to the last great idea Eric had, which had been turning the band into an punk group that dressed up as vampires. Simon had gotten a kick out of that: he wore his fangs practically everywhere, baring his teeth at whoever looked at him funny and infusing red food coloring into all of his water bottles. Maybe it had been a little excessive, but that was Simon for you.

"He's still way too into this band thing," Clary noted. Eric had formed the group six years ago in the middle of junior high, and regardless of the band never taking off, still called them together with the same unbridled enthusiasm.

Simon scratched his head thoughtfully. "Yeah, but it was nice being with the guys as a band again," he admitted with a light smile. "It was a good way to kill time in high school."

They found an empty table by the back and put down their things. Simon went off with a wave to get his lunch while Clary pulled hers out of her bag, wondering in the back of her mind what her mother had prepared for her today.

Clary paused, feeling her stomach drop at the now-recognizable sensation of another vision coming on. The image of the motherly woman who had called out Samara's name in her vision at home appeared in her mind, and Clary watched as she pulled an apple pie out of the oven. It was, in fact, the same scene she had seen yesterday at home. This realization snapped her out of the vision, the details swimming out of her mind and returning her to the cafeteria.

So was that lady actually Samara's mother? That was the only logical conclusion Clary could draw, though there was little logic to any part of this situation.

Something made Clary put down her lunch and pull out her phone from her bag. After opening up the search engine on her phone, she entered _car accident December 19th 2004_, the date of her own accident. It took a little bit of scrolling before she found a local news site that had an article titled _Many dead in series of car accidents in New York suburbs._

Clary's breath hitched as she found the names of her father and brother. _Valentine Fray (46) and Jonathan Fray (13) both dead after truck skids off other side of road._ She ignored the stab of pain that it sent through her and kept scrolling through the article.

Bingo. Clary stopped and began reading when she found the name she was looking for. _Samara Garroway (18) dead while crossing road after driver speeds through red light._

It was the same night. Both the accidents had happened on the same night.

_Does that mean__…__those visions were actually Samara__'__s memories?_ That couldn't be, could it? How could she, Clary, share the memories of someone she had never interacted with? How could she remember another girl's memories through that girl's eyes? How could anyone retain someone else's memories at all?

Suddenly, she pictured herself standing once again in the middle of the road as a car hurtled toward her: the vision from ten years ago. If their accidents had happened on the same night, did that mean Clary had _been there_ when Samara had died? Had she been present for the last few moments of Samara's life?

No, she hadn't been an onlooker in the vision; she had seen everything as if she had been seeing it from her own eyes. It was as if she had _been_ Samara herself…

Isabelle sat down in the chair to Clary's right, returning from getting her lunch, and Clary smiled at Isabelle, hoping she hadn't noticed Clary doze off again. Isabelle smiled back, though the smile dropped the moment Simon reappeared a few seconds later.

She had to stop thinking about it, at least in front of Simon and Isabelle. She couldn't let anyone find out, otherwise she didn't know what kind of problems would arise…This didn't exactly seem like something anyone would take seriously if they found out, at least, not seriously in the way of thinking that Clary was sane and telling the truth.

Isabelle inspected the sloppy joe that covered every inch of Simon's plate with mild disgust. "How can you eat that? It looks like someone vomited in between two buns," she informed him, her face contorting in distaste. Clary had to agree, but didn't speak up. It was best to stay out of the two's way.

Simon wagged his fork at her with mock severity. "There are people dying from starvation in Africa, Isabelle! Don't hate on food. Besides, looks can deceive you," he said. He followed his lecture up by taking some of the sloppy joe that was falling out of the bun with his fork and stuffing it into his mouth.

Looking like she was about to gag, Isabelle turned her attention to the salad that sat in front of her and nibbled a crouton, probably still in shock from Simon's antics.

Clary laughed a little. Being around her friends was comforting. It was normal.

The memories she was seeing that had never been an actual part of her life were not normal. What she felt when she had touched Jace Herondale was not normal.

But she couldn't stop thinking about him, or the visions or Samara. She had to know more. She had to know why this was happening to her,_ what_ was happening to her.

But how could she possibly figure out any of this alone?

She couldn't. There was no possible way, since she had no idea who Samara was or any of the details of her life were in the first place.

But she definitely knew someone who did: a certain handsome new TA of hers.

Jace was the only one with answers as to who Samara was, and how Clary could possibly have anything to do with her. Jace was the only one who might possibly understand this connection. She had to get closer to him somehow, and find some sane way to broach the subject.

That was just it. Getting closer to Jace was her only foreseeable shot at figuring this out.

And _why the hell_ could she not stop calling him Jace?

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><p><strong>There we go!<strong>

**Next update will probably be once again in two weeks. I'm really sorry about the slow updates, but I'm trying to make sure that I'm writing enough to be ahead before I update so if there comes a time I can't get to writing, I can still update for you guys.**

**Please leave a review! I love hearing from you guys about what's going on and how you feel about the story.**

**Review review c:**

**Yours,**

**~A.W.W**


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